To the war every urchin marched,
Shells gleaming, spines starched.
They're off to the Pacific,
In the middle, to be specific.
There they queue, one by one,
Letting off steam and making a pong.
They want to fight, that's their thing,
They want to take their place in the ring.
When their turn does come to fight,
They fight the fight with all their might.
If they lose they can't get vexed,
If they win they take on the next.
The one final victor wins it all,
All other urchins consigned to fall.
My pet urchin showed his worth,
My pet urchin won the Earth.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem